| It’s update time, so I’ve been told, and update I shall.
I’m fed up with aggressive marketing. It’s simply gone too far. I’ve been restraining my urges to rabbit punch in the throat anyone who practices “aggressive marketing”, but I’ve reached my breaking point. Next time someone tries to sell me an ostrich bath towel when I go into a store in search of cup noodles, I swear I’m going to find out where they live and burn their house down.
Yesterday I visited the Cool Springs Galleria with one purpose, and one purpose only, that being to obtain for myself through any means necessary TAIKO: Drum Master. I strode purposefully into the game store, waited approximately three days for the woman in front of me to reserve every sports game coming out in the next two years for her son, who was observing loudly that Sly Cooper 3: Honor among Thieves looked “gay”.
While I contemplated what Sly Cooper would do to this child if he ever met him (after stealing, in a stylish manner, all of his stupid sports games and selling them for charity to help save the whales) I had to listen to his mother make four cell phone calls to people asking them the names of games, and somehow still managing to say the wrong thing. I mean, even I, not a fan of sports games unless they start with “Mario”, know that there is no such thing as “Tony Hockey”. I kid you not, the woman tried to reserve “Tony Hockey” for the PS2.
Right as I started to cast about for something that would do as a bludgeoning weapon, she finished her checklist and departed, broadcasting in a keening voice all of the appointments she had left in the rest of her busy day, and how important they are. Seriously lady, I care that you need your couch re-upholstered by a Bohemian because your tauntaun had an upset stomach and pooped on it, and you need to be there at five because the Bohemian gets irritable and requires a fresh-fruit smoothie if he’s made to wait.
I walk calmly to the counter, and ask politely if they have TAIKO: Drum Master. The employee informs me that yes, they do, and fetches me one from the back. I happily pay him, and he asks nicely if I want to reserve any games. No, I tell him, I’m good, and he bids me good day and I walk out of the store.
I leave GameStop with every intention of going there first (after e-bay, of course) the next time I need to purchase a game. Firstly because I’d been all over town for the previous hour getting blank looks followed by “I’ll check to see if we have it”, whereupon the employee would disappear into a back room and, after re-emerging in about the time it takes to watch the extended edition of the full Lord of the Rings trilogy and work about eighty-seven crossword puzzles, say something along the lines of: “Well, I didn’t see it, but I think we’ve got Tony Hockey”. The second reason I’d shop GameStop first next time is because the man was nice, cheerful, and didn’t put me on the rack and try to make me buy eighteen other titles I had absolutely no interest in before I could get out of the store. A simple variation of “Need anything else?” does the trick, followed by a polite goodbye if my answer is no. I don’t appreciate it when the attendant leaps over the counter and menaces me with a hot poker when I decline to engage in a long conversation about what they do have, as opposed to the one thing I came into the store to purchase.
So, walk out of GameStop in high spirits, for I have overcome the daunting task of purchasing one item without purchasing seventeen other things that I would realize, upon getting home with them, that I didn’t and won’t in thirty minutes know existed. I was even considering humming to myself as I walked, when I came upon the EXPRESS store, which had sale signs out front. Not generally being in the mood to spend upwards of my right arm on jeans, I haven’t been in it before. These signs informed me, however, without excess information and with a pleasing layout, that there was a sale. Intrigued, I peered into the store, which had clearly labeled boxes and quite reasonable prices. Thinking for myself, I decided I’d like to go and see what they had.
I decided that I would first take my previous purchase to the car, because the box TAIKO comes in is about the size of a small child, and were I a character in Icewind Dale II, it would say: “encumbered, stamina –2/s” above my head. I got back to the car and asked my mother if she could loan me some money for me to pay her back when we got home, as I hadn’t cashed my latest paycheck yet and I still don’t know my debit card number. She wanted to put any purchases on the credit card, though, because we get some percentage of the purchases charged to it in credit at Sears, where my dad likes to buy drills.
My mom comes in with me, and we are on our merry way to buy me more stuff when out of nowhere this little brown man grabs my mom’s hand and starts to rub lotion on it, all the while jabbering in what I can only describe as a strange hybrid of the asian and mexican accents about Dead Sea salt crystals. As I stood transfixed by his rudeness and comical appearance, a small voice somewhere in my head voiced the question: why would you put salt, something that takes away moisture, into lotion, something that is supposed to add moisture. Now, there may be a very good reason for this that I’m ignorant of, but at the time it made me quite angry just thinking about it.
The man continued to rattle off the ingredients, effects, hitpoints, zodiac sign, casting cost, and dietary preference of his product, all the while curiously avoiding the price. Finally my mother, who seemed to actually be a tad interested rather than fighting the urge to hurl javelins at the little man like I was, asked the price. At this point we found out that a set of these lotions were only $69.99. For everyone foolish enough to be duped by this little ploy, that’s $70.00. Because I assure you, tax, especially in the state of Tennessee, will exceed one cent.
As my mom, discouraged by the price, started the tedious process of escaping from the tenacious duress of a kiosk salesman, I marveled at all of the things I could buy for $70, and how much more useful they would be than lotion. I mean, I could see the EXPRESS sign from where we were standing, which read: Polos - $9.99 and up. I could buy 6 polos from EXPRESS, should the emphasis be on the ‘$9.99’ rather than on the ‘and up’, including tax! Or I could buy lotion with Dead Sea salt. Is there really a choice there?
As we finally got away from the vice-like grip of the lotion salesman, I realized how much I really hate aggressive marketing. It just makes me mad.
So unless I ask you for seventy-dollar lotion containing Dead Sea salt, you better not offer it to me if you like having both kidneys, because I will take you out in less time than it takes a velociraptor to take out a kitten.
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